


Out Of Bed

by saltnhalo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gryffindor Castiel (Supernatural), Hufflepuff Dean Winchester, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Wizard Castiel (Supernatural), Wizard Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21622477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltnhalo/pseuds/saltnhalo
Summary: On his way back from the Quidditch Pitch late one night, Dean Winchester finds himself adventuring the deserted corridors of Hogwarts with the Head Boy.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 103
Kudos: 502





	Out Of Bed

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a story-time fic over at [Profound Bond](https://discord.gg/profoundbond) to make my NaNo deadline! It was a sweet, fun little story to write, so I hope y'all like it. Un-betad.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Dean sits in the middle of the Quidditch pitch and looks up at the stars.

On nights like these when he can't sleep, when the weight of the future and all the expectations placed upon him get to be too much, this where he likes to come. Sometimes he flies—doing loops around the pitch, practicing his dives, or just fucking around. And sometimes, he just needs to stay still, and stare up at the night sky.

It helps to remind him that there's a lot more to the world than school, and grades, and whether he gets picked up by a League team after he graduates next year. Whether he even _wants_ to be picked up. The breeze is cool against his skin, and out here, it's quiet. He shouldn't be here, of course, but the pitch is far enough removed from the school that people can't see him. If they ever have, it's never been mentioned. No one really wants to tell him off for practicing, after all.

But tonight, he can't bring himself to fly. 

Because there's more on his mind than just wondering what career he's going to end up in once he finally graduates. And that... that's a little more complicated.

Dean sighs and lets himself fall back against the grass. The tiny blades reach for him, tickling against his skin in welcome, and he smiles. He shouldn't be out here for too much longer—he does have class in the morning, after all—but for now, it feels good to just lie here and lose himself in the calm of the night. To not have to _think_.

The upcoming Gryffindor match, his final project for Herbology, study and friends and _feelings_... it all just falls away.

Finally, once Dean starts to feel his eyelids drooping, and the stars have shifted across the sky, he pulls himself up off the ground and brushes himself off. As much as he wishes he could, he can't stay here all night.

He yawns, rubs his hands over his face, then wordlessly summons his broom from where it had been lying on the ground beside him. It _had_ been his intention to fly, even just a little bit, but apparently tonight hadn't been his night.

He mounts his broom and slowly makes his way back up to the castle, keeping low to the ground and flying in lazy serpentines. He's not in any hurry, and he'd like to avoid being spotted from the castle if he can help it. Most of the professors will let him off with a warning, but there are some that will punish him just for spite, and those are the ones he would rather not tangle with.

By the time he makes it up to the castle, it doesn't seem like he's been seen. Even so, Dean is careful to stick to the shadows as he makes his way around the outside wall to the side door he uses to get in and out. The house elves leave it open for him as long as he plies them with herbs and compliments the food every time he sneaks into the kitchen, and so he's relieved to find it still unlocked.

As it should be, at this time of night, the corridors are quiet and empty. Flames flicker lowly in the sconces that line the walls, but even those are perfectly silent, magical and absent of the usual quiet crackle of fire. Dean finds himself holding his breath as he creeps along the edge of the corridor, broom in his hand. It's not far from here to the Common Room, but making his way through the corridors is still the most dangerous part of his night-time escapades.

There's only one more corner left, one more turn before he reaches the corridor that holds the Hufflepuff Common Room entrance. It's so rare for anyone to be patrolling down here, so he rarely even bothers checking if there's anyone around, assuming that he’s on the home straight.

But then, out of the silence, he swears he hears the faintest sounds of a whisper—

And then he bounces off an invisible wall at the mouth of the corridor, at the same moment that he hears—

"Mr. Novak."

 _Filch_. 

But unless the old coot is starting to go senile, he's usually pretty good at knowing the names of all the students in the school, even if it's just so that he can keep track of which students deserve detention and which ones don't but that he wishes he could punish anyway.

And Dean is definitely one of the former, which makes it weird that Filch seems to have forgotten his name.

Or so he thinks, until he hears Filch's quiet footsteps, and watches as he walks past right in front of Dean's nose, on the other side of the invisible barrier that's sprung up where there shouldn't be one.

Dean flattens himself to the wall instinctively and hugs his broom to his chest, hoping that the shadows are enough to hide him from the vindictive caretaker. He's not sure how soundproof the barrier is—or how it even came to be there, for that matter—but if he can hear Filch then it's safe to say that Filch can hear him. Dean's wordless spells have always been hit or miss, so he just has to hug the stone and hope.

Luckily, Filch's attention doesn't seem to be on him—and as another figure steps into view, the name Filch had used suddenly makes much more sense.

"Good evening, Mr. Filch."

Castiel Novak stands opposite him in the corridor, hands pushed into the pockets of his robes and an air of nonchalant relaxation about him. His Head Boy badge gleams against his chest, and damn, it must be nice to be able to wander the halls without being told off for breaking curfew. 

Filch eyes Castiel, though with considerably less suspicion than he would any other student—even the Head Girl or the other prefects. He's always believed that Castiel is a rule follower, which is amusing considering how much Dean has seen him get away with in class over the years.

"Good to see an upstanding Head Boy doing his duties. You haven't seen any students out of bed, have you?"

Castiel's eyes flick towards Dean, and just for a second, they make eye contact. His game could be up—but he and Cas are friends, even though they're from different houses, and he has to hope that that's enough for Castiel to spare him from Filch's wrath.

The corners of Cas's lips curve up into a tiny smile, and then he shakes his head.

"No students out of bed, Mr. Filch." He pauses, then tilts his head, seeming to consider something. "Although, there were some odd sounds coming from one of the classrooms on the second floor. It sounded like Peeves might have been up to something, but I figured I would leave that to your discretion."

Filch's scowl deepens, and he nods his head. "Very wise, very wise. I'll put that poltergeist back in his place. Keep doing your good work, Mr. Novak." And then he's shuffling off, quicker than Dean has seen him move in a long time.

Neither Dean nor Castiel move, holding each other's gaze as Filch shuffles out of sight and out of hearing. Finally, once they're sure he's gone, Cas lets his expression dissolve into a grin and dispels the invisible wall with a wave of his hand. "Well," he says, wandering over to Dean with his hands back in his pockets. "That was a close one."

Dean unsticks himself from the wall, his heartbeat finally calming down now that he's no longer in imminent danger. "So that was _your_ charm." He nudges over the threshold of the corridor, just to be sure the wall is completely gone, then steps out opposite Castiel. "I wasn't sure if I was just so tired that I was imagining things," he jokes.

Cas shakes his head, chuckling. "Nope, that was all me. Someone has to look out for Quidditch Captains who ignore the curfew and then wander around the corridors without bothering to check what's around the corner, after all," he teases.

Dean feels his cheeks heat in embarrassment. "Shut up," he mutters, and can't help but smile as he watches Cas's grin widen. "How did you even know I was there?"

Now it's Castiel's turn to blush. He rubs the back of his neck and glances away, and isn't that interesting? Dean leans against his broom and waits.

"You're out there a lot," Castiel finally says. He doesn't meet Dean's eyes. "Out at the Quidditch Pitch after curfew. I figured it was none of my business, so I never asked you about it. And then I heard you coming, and I knew Filch was on his way, too. I didn't want you to get caught."

_Cas knows?_

Cas knows that he breaks curfew. And of course it's tonight that they run into each other, on the night that Dean's been sitting out there having a goddamn existential crisis.

"I didn't realise you knew so much about my schedule," he jokes, trying to smooth his own ruffled feathers. Just because Cas knows he was out there doesn't mean that he knows _why_ Dean was out there, or what he was thinking about.

He doesn't know that Dean was thinking about _him_.

Because on top of all the pressures that accompany the fast-approaching graduation deadline—the prospect of being selected for a League team, weighed against his love of Herbology, and the decision he's going to have to make about his future—Dean is also achingly aware of the fact that his time is running out.

He's known Cas since first year. Since they met at the Sorting Ceremony on that very first night, and Cas got sorted into Gryffindor while Dean went to Hufflepuff. They started as acquaintances, then graduated into friends as they began to share more and more classes together and then, somewhere between fifth and sixth year, Dean realised he was in love with Cas.

But they're on such different paths. 

Cas is the Head Boy, the one predicted to score straight Os on all his NEWTs, the one who's basically a shoe-in for a good position at the Ministry, should he want it. 

And then Dean. Quidditch Captain with a born knack for flying and an inherited love of plants, who has no idea which route he should take once school is over and is so bad at making big decisions like this that he's spent hours and hours agonising over it.

So he's never been able to tell Cas how he feels. 

Not that that will matter soon, anyway.

Castiel is still watching him, his eyes wide and even a little guilty. His hand comes up to his robes, touching the front of them right over one of the inner pockets, then falls away again. "I suppose I'm just observant," he says quietly.

The silence between them stretches out. Dean doesn't know what he's supposed to say, standing here in the corridor in the early hours of the morning, opposite the boy who has no idea Dean's in love with him.

Eventually, Dean breaks it the only way he knows how.

"You hungry?" he asks, forcing a smile that he doesn't entirely feel and hoisting his broom up onto his shoulder.

Cas frowns, seeming to snap out of whatever thought process or weird headspace he'd been in. "What do you mean? Breakfast won't be ready for another few hours, at least."

And that makes Dean pause, an incredulous laugh bubbling up from his chest. "You're telling me that you're the Head Boy, in your seventh year, have a seemingly uncanny knack for knowing when people are doing things they shouldn't be... and you've never snuck into the kitchens?"

When all he gets from Cas is a confused, disbelieving stare, Dean can't help but laugh. "Oh, man, am I about to blow your mind. Come on, come with me. Just keep an eye out for Filch so that we don't get busted, because apparently I'm shit at looking out for myself tonight, alright?"

Slowly, Cas's look of confusion morphs into a grin. He glances over his shoulder at the direction Filch had disappeared in, then looks back at Dean. "We should be okay," he says. "Teach me your wicked ways, Dean."

Dean's heart thumps against his ribcage—he can't quite believe that tonight, it's just him and Castiel. Can't remember the last time they'd hung out like this, outside of classes or mealtimes. It's been too long.

"Gladly," he says with a grin, and together they fall into step, wandering together along the empty corridor towards the kitchens.

There's something magical about being out in the castle past curfew, and the feeling only magnifies when he's with Cas, as Dean quickly finds out. When it's just the two of them, in the quiet, it's like the rest of the world falls away. Dean can focus on Cas without any distractions at all—can focus on the curve of his smile, the effortless mess of his hair, the sparkle in those blue eyes whenever he looks over at Dean.

When he shows Cas which pear to tickle on the painting, he can't help but watch him, smiling at the way Cas's eyes light up as though it's the Sorting Ceremony all over again and a whole new world is opening up to him.

"That's amazing," Castiel breathes, watching as the pear becomes a door handle in front of their very eyes. "I knew the kitchens were here, I just never knew that you could get in."

Dean chuckles as he reaches over Cas to turn the handle and swing the painting open. "For us Hufflepuffs, this is the first castle secret we learn. Sometimes I forget that some people from the other houses don't know about it." He gestures to the painting with a smile. "After you."

Nothing beats the awe of someone seeing the kitchens for the first time. For a good minute, Cas just stares at the high ceilings and the long tables laid out before them, currently empty. The house-elves bustle around, many of them stopping to wave at Dean, who visits the kitchens more often than he might care to admit. 

"Pretty cool, huh?" Dean sets his broom down by the door and makes his way over to the closest bench, taking a seat. It's so warm in here that he can feel himself getting drowsy, and he motions for Cas to join him with a loose wave of his hand.

Castiel takes a seat beside him, and even though they have the entirety of the bench to themselves, Dean can't help but focus on the way their knees touch under the table.

"You were right," Cas says. "This really is incredible."

When Dean glances over, Cas isn't looking up at the ceiling, or over to where the house elves are hard at work.

No—he's watching Dean, his eyes soft, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Dean holds his gaze for a long moment. He's warm, and verging on sleepy, and it would be so easy to just lean in and close the distance between them—

"Master Dean!"

Dean jerks out of his thoughts—in his periphery, he sees Cas startle too.

_Son of a bitch._

The moment is gone, and Dean turns away from Castiel, towards the house elf who’d interrupted their moment. They end up with two goblets of pumpkin juice and some pudding, and Dean wishes more than anything that he knew what to say to Cas while they eat.

It's Cas who breaks the silence, this time. "Why were you down at the Quidditch Pitch?" he asks, pushing the uneaten half of his pudding around his bowl with his spoon.

Of course he goes right for the question Dean would have preferred to avoid. He clears his throat, then sips his pumpkin juice for good measure while he figures out just what he wants to say. "I was thinking," is what he eventually goes with. "About graduating, and what's going to happen next year."

And then he tilts his head, and looks over at Cas, a small frown creasing his brows.

"How do you know I wasn't just practicing out there?"

Cas's eyes go wide.

Dean watches as, very slowly, Cas reaches into his robes. He's not exactly sure what he's expecting Castiel to pull out, but when he reveals a folded piece of parchment and lays it gently on the table, he can't help but stare at it in surprise.

"What," he says, when no explanation from Cas is forthcoming, "the hell is that?"

"It's a map." Cas runs his fingers along one of the well-worn edges. "I found it in the library one day, tucked into a book about the Second Wizarding War. It took me a long time to figure out how to use it, but once it opens, you..." He clears his throat, his eyes fixed on the parchment instead of looking up at Dean. "You can see where everyone is inside the castle."

Dean stares at Cas, then down at the innocent-looking parchment.

"So that's how you knew where I was?" he asks. "How you know I've been down at the Quidditch Pitch so often past curfew?"

Castiel nods guiltily. "I usually see you moving around like you're flying, but today you weren't moving and I... I got a little worried. That's why I wanted to catch you on your way back to your Common Room—to check you were okay."

It's a lot to process, and sounds pretty fucking far-fetched when Dean stares down at the sheet of parchment, but he's never known Cas to lie. Well, not to him, anyway. Grumpy old caretakers are another matter entirely.

So in the end, although it's clear that Cas is expecting some sort of negative reaction, all that Dean says is, "That's cool."

Cas looks up at him, blinking in surprise. "That's cool?" he ventures, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "That's all you have to say?"

Dean shrugs. "Yeah. It's cool. And it's also sweet of you that you were worried about me," he adds with a smile, not truly thinking about his words.

That earns a deep blush from Castiel this time, and he stammers, clearly unsure of what to say. It's really fucking endearing, and Dean can't help but think, once again, about how easy it would be to lean over and just kiss him.

Cas clears his throat, tucking the parchment back into his robes. He seems almost nervous in a way that Dean's never seen before.

"Dean, I—"

"Would you like anything else, Master Dean?"

" _Son of a_ —"

Dean almost jumps out of his seat, turning to look at the house elf that's staring up at them with big, round eyes. "No, no thank you, we're good," he says quickly, forcing a smile because whatever Cas had been about to say, it had sounded important.

The house elf disappears once more, and Dean turns back to Cas, who's now looking down at the table. "What were you saying?" he prompts, but it's a second or two before Cas meets his gaze once more, and this time, there's a bittersweet, sad tilt to his mouth.

"It's nothing," he says quietly. "I was just going to say that we should probably be getting back to our respective dormitories. It's very late, and we do have classes tomorrow."

Dean gets the feeling that that hadn't been what Cas had wanted to say at all, but he doesn't push it.

"That's probably a good idea." As much as he wants tonight to go on forever, just him and Cas alone in the castle together, he knows it will have to come to an end eventually.

They finish their food in silence. Cas helps Dean up when they stand, because suddenly he feels exhausted—exhausted by the lateness of the evening, and by the relentlessness of the thoughts that just won't leave him alone tonight. He collects his broom, and then follows Castiel back out of the painting and into the corridor.

Cas walks him down the corridor to the entrance to the Hufflepuff Common Room. They don't talk—it feels like there are things hanging in the air between them, things left unsaid, and Dean wonders if he'll ever have the courage to say them out loud.

 _There's a reason I wasn't sorted into Gryffindor_ , he thinks bitterly, as he and Cas come to a stop in front of the stack of barrels disguising the entrance to the Common Room. Things would be so different if he could just suck it up and admit his feelings for Cas.

But while Dean wasn't sorted into Gryffindor...

Cas most certainly was.

Dean is reaching for the barrel when a hand on his shoulder stops him in his tracks, and he turns to look at Castiel, one eyebrow raised. "What?" he asks.

There's something weird going on with Cas, if the way he shuffles his feet and clears his throat is anything to go by. Dean watches as he takes a deep breath, and wonders what's on his mind—but there's no way that he could have expected what Cas says next. 

"I'm in love with you."

Dean's brain screeches to a halt. 

_I'm in love with you._

There's more that Cas is saying, because Dean can see his lips moving, and the way his fingers are fidgeting anxiously, but barely any of that is sinking in because he's completely fixated on those first five words. 

"—since we met in first year," Cas is saying, rambling now because Dean hasn't responded yet, has just been staring at him, "and then during Transfiguration class in fifth year, you helped me with my rabbit and I—"

They'll never know where Cas was going with his rambling, because Dean carefully sets his broom aside, steps up close to Castiel, curls his fingers into the front of Cas's robes and kisses him.

For a moment, Cas is frozen, as though he can't quite believe what's happening, and Dean holds his breath. He's got no right to be the nervous one, considering Cas is the one who just confessed his feelings, but he's never done anything like this and he can feel his heart hammering against his chest.

And then Cas melts against him, his hands coming up to curve against Dean's jaw, and they're kissing. _Properly_ kissing, like Dean's dreamt about for so fucking long. In the quiet and the solitude of the castle, in the magical time that accompanies the earliest hours of the morning...

It's perfect.

When they finally separate to draw breath, Dean can't keep the goofy smile off his face, and Cas's expression is one of shock and surprise and pure joy. "I didn't..." he breathes, "I wasn't expecting..."

"Neither was I," Dean admits, and he laughs breathlessly. "I've had a crush on you for fuckin' forever, you know. That's what I was thinking about, down at the Quidditch Pitch. Yeah, I was thinking about graduation, and next year, and all that stuff, but... I was also thinking about you."

Cas opens his mouth, then closes it again, and finally grins, big and wide and happy. "Wow," he says quietly. "That is very sweet, Dean. I'd been wondering when I was going to tell you how I felt for such a long time and I—I never thought it would happen like this."

Dean hums, and leans in to kiss Cas again—just because he can. "What, you thought I'd reject you?" he murmurs, and shakes his head disbelievingly when Cas shrugs his should as if to say _kind of, yeah_. "Anyone who rejected you would be an idiot, Cas. And I may be many things, but I'm only _partly_ an idiot, so I'm gonna ask you now, before you change your mind, just to make it official... will you be my boyfriend?"

That gets a laugh out of Cas, and the sound of it melts Dean's heart even more. "Yes, Dean," he says, and his voice is light and amused and so happy it hurts. "Yes, I will be your boyfriend, because I would also have to be an idiot to say no to that."

Cas is the one to kiss Dean this time, and it's soft and sweet and everything Dean could have hoped for. God, Cas is so fucking perfect. Dean never wants this night to end.

And then the thought occurs to him...

"Hey, Cas," he starts, his grin turning cheeky, and Castiel raises his eyebrows at him in curiosity. 

"Ever seen inside the Hufflepuff Common Room?"

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment or kudos if you liked this!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://saltnhalo.tumblr.com), and subscribe to me on ao3 [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltnhalo).


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